Black Coffee In Bed
by jenajasper
Summary: All Sam wants now is for Dean to feel like himself again. (soul survivor)
1. Chapter 1

Sam rolled over and looked at the clock. He found that it had been less than an hour since the last time he looked at the clock. At least, it was getting closer to daylight.

He rolled back over and pulled up the covers. He soon realized this was useless.

It had been a fitful sleep. Spurts filled with fearful thoughts and images.

The words, hateful and hurtful, remembered all too clearly. They were spinning around in his head like so many flashcards. Each with its own picture of that demon with the black eyes wearing Dean's face.

Sam understood it was Dean, all Dean, But that hatred, he could only accept that as an expression of his brother's pain. It didn't make it easier just palatable.

But now, Dean was back, his brother Dean with all his imperfections. Instead of the creature that he had to trap and chain like an animal. The one that almost bit his head off, literally.

Sam had no regrets about anything he had done to get Dean back, to save him. He owed his brother everything.

All those years of being responsible, thinking he was obliged to carry it all and save everyone else from the burden, especially Sam.

Sam threw off the blankets.

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He crossed the hall and slowly opened Dean's bedroom door. He peeked in and saw that his brother was still asleep. Sam walked in to collect the sweatshirt and book he had left behind.

He stood for several minutes, fighting the urge to wake his brother, just to assure himself that this was real. He was in this room yesterday, for hours until he had fallen asleep, long after Dean had dropped off.

Dean shifted, wrapping himself tighter in his blankets. The movement caused Sam to start, as if he, himself, had been awakened. Then he quietly left the room.

He slipped on the hoodie to start his day; he would get his energy from his morning run and make his plans. His watch told him it was 5:17 am.

It had been a long and difficult night. Sam feared it would be a long day as well.

Sam took a detour to the kitchen, with no conscious thought. He paused in the doorway before entering the room. He mindlessly handled the book he was still carrying before placing it on the table.

He believed he had picked up the book at random, just something to keep his mind occupied while he sat with his brother. But he found, as he read, that the Longfellow poetry had become a comfort, almost a guide helping him let go of his own fear and worry.

It was at this point that Sam knew what he wanted to do.

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The coffee aroma did much to stimulate Sam's senses. He knew things were said, some truly felt perhaps, that would need to be addressed. But these were not important things, not at this time, not to Sam. His priority was to make Dean feel like himself again.

Sam re-entered his brother's room to find that Dean was still sleeping. He placed the travel mug, filled with coffee, on the bedside table.

He left as quietly as he had entered.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam stepped out into the semi-darkness. The sky was a blue almost grey or maybe grey almost blue color. It was clear of stars and heavy almost like a blanket covering a sleeping day.

At the end of the world, Sam could see the first hint of morning. A thin line of pink and orange and lavender, like the pretty end of the rainbow.

He thought that, the end of the rainbow. He laughed to himself.

He took the final steps out to the road and sighed as he slowly shook his head. He was looking at the Impala. She was a mess. Her appearance reminding him of the wreck he and his brother had become.

Even before Dean had fallen so far to think that he, alone, was to blame for everything, that he was so repulsive, so worthless, that he chose to condemn himself by accepting the Mark, even before all this, Sam remembered things that he had said. Things just as painful and just as harsh as anything Dean had said to him.

None of that mattered now. Dean was freed from the demon's influence. His own demons, Sam reminded himself. He couldn't imagine what that had done to his brother. All he knew was that he was determined to help him.

He shook his hands and pumped his arms against the chill as he turned and started down the road.

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The sun had started its daily climb over the trees when Sam returned to the bunker. He slowed to a walk and approached the Impala.

"It's just a car." Dean had said. An offhanded, casual comment that hit Sam , perhaps, harder than any other.

She was a part of Dean's identity, a part of their family. And she had been neglected and abused. When Dean realized what he had done….Sam cut that thought off.

Dean needed to feel better. Sam needed to make that happen. He had an idea.

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Sam opened the car doors and the smell hit him, hard. There was a sharp, almost science experiment stench of over fermented beer mixed with food, old food, old spoiled food, old spoiled sour food.

Sam leaned out of the car, took a large breath of fresh air and leaned back in to get to work. He rolled down the windows so the funk could crawl out. The floor and the seats were littered with...everything.

He found a plastic bag and stuffed it with food wrappers, bottles and cans until it almost split. It would be enough for now.

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After dumping the trash, Sam grabbed a bottled water from the kitchen and walked toward the bedrooms.

He was planning to talk to Dean about washing the car today. They would take their time, play the music loud and hang out in the company of a couple of six packs.

They would wax her to a brilliant shine so bright, that when the sunlight bounced off you could almost hear it.

He stopped at Dean's door and knocked softly. It was partially open so, he figured that Dean was awake but, still didn't want to disturb him if he was not.

When there was no answer, he pushed the door all the way open. The bed was empty and unmade.

When Sam saw the clean t-shirt and jeans draped over the chair, he realized that his brother was most likely in the shower. Then he noticed the coffee mug was now on the desk.

He walked over and lifted the cup. From the weight of it, Sam knew that it was nearly empty.

He smiled at the thought that Dean had started his day with a nice hot cup of black coffee just like he always did.


End file.
